The Book Of Life

Pulses, up and down the book breathed life into its creased pages. The leather bound words joined tightly together, woven into existence. It began to move. Slowly, eventually, towards him. A man with all of life’s experiences shown by his worn bones, covered by a kind exterior. Smiling from cheek to cheek he watched in awe as this little black book moved. It stopped. It opened. Creaky noises emulating from this little black book, filling a blank room. But as blank as this room was, the man’s experience led the way for this book. Upon a glance the pages filled with his life. Sentences, punctuation, and spelling all summed up in his existence. The little back book was sewn in a connection with this man. The two were indistinguishable.

Cafes and parks, shops and malls, the grown man guided his father through all. At such a park there was a small child. The child inquired, “old man, what games do you like to play?” A drawn out stare was given back to the child as the old man held onto his grown son for support. His son responded, “Hi how are you today? My father is old and his bones are brittle, he relies on me for everything. Do you know someone like that?” The little girl gleefully cheered, “my nana! She’s really nice and she gives me flowers when I visit her.” The old man stared off into the distance, thoughts? No thoughts? Perhaps. “That’s so kind of her to give you flowers. She seems really sweet.” “I love my nana but she doesn’t have many friends. Would you like to be her friend?”

In a quiet tea shop, two adults babbled. “It was nice to meet you in the park that day. Your father is quite the gentle one, and handsome too. I think we should introduce them.” “I think that’s a spectacular idea.” the son replied.

At a home in an older neighborhood the old man sat with his son. The old man drew in the room around him with a deep breathe and then exhaled trouble, peace, and concern. In all things that the man trusted in, his son was always number one. "Dad, this isn't easy but it never is. I wish there was some sort of platitude that could fix things in instance but we both know that will never be true. The only thing I can say is that I know you, and because of that I'm not worried."

The man skipped, aged, jumped, and fell. He loved, mourned, felt joy and was well. He knew, he read, he sang, and he yelled. All in all it was a life to remember.

Conversations and experiences multiplied over months. It was the big day. The older father, clutching his wooden cane, carved with commas, punctuations of all sorts. His cane reached out to the book that was once there. He stumbled his way through the front door to where she sat. There she was, in all her beauty, glowing skin and humble eyes. Her smile told a story, one for the ages. Her hair was done neatly and it captured the essence of her worries, troubles, and fears. Yet, the older woman’s heart glowed brighter than her dark past. Any shadows or dark corners filled with light. And then something happened. Loneliness was struck down, like a lightning bolt from above. What was once sealed tightly became a smile now unbroken. The older man grinned, relaying the state of happiness from within. The older woman laid eyes on him darting and confused. At once the old man said calmly, "My dear, I see you." The woman arose from her chair, met the old man where he stood, and took his hand in hers. She replied, "My dear, I see us." The little black book had been opened for the old man to see. Inside a whole life for him to read. Not what could, but what would be.